“You’re wrong.” He kept his eyes down as he said it, and I could tell that he was hiding something, and that he was terrified. For a second I thought he might start crying.
“You’re lying.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to,” I said, taking a step toward him. “Like I said, I’m not a cop anymore.”
He raised the knife again. “Stay away!”
“Which ones, Robby? Which victims bought from you before they died?”
“None of them did! And you can’t prove different! Neither can your cop friends!”
I didn’t believe him for a minute. But he was right; I couldn’t prove anything, at least not yet.
“Fine,” I said, relaxing a bit, checking my knee again. What a mess.
He regarded me, wary again. “Fine what?”
“I believe you didn’t sell drugs to any of the other Blind Angel victims. You can go.”
“That’s it? I can go? Just like that?”
“What’d you expect? I told you I’m not a cop anymore. If I could throw you in the pen for a while let you stew on all of this, I would. For Claudia and for Jessie. But I’m just a PI. Even if you are lying to me, I can’t do anything about it.”
The smirk that curved his lips was way too smug for my taste. He let his blade hand fall to his side again. “Yeah, that’s right. You can’t do shit.”
“Stay out of trouble. Watch your back. I might be done with you, but the cops aren’t.”
“Right,” he said. “Whatever.”
I frowned down at my leg once more, making like I was done with him. He started to saunter past me and as he did, I straightened and threw a punch, catching him full in the side of the face, right below his eye. He bounced off the wall of the house next to us and went down hard.
“God, dude!” he whined, sprawled on the ground, both hands on his face. “What the hell was that for?”
“My leg, those fire spells, pulling that knife on me, lying about the drugs. Take your pick.” I started to walk away, shaking my hand and rubbing the knuckles-they never show it in the movies, but it hurts to hit someone like that. A lot.
“You are messed up, dude!” he called after me. “No wonder they booted you off the freakin’ force.”
I turned to face him, walking backwards out of the alley. My hands were shaking. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I’d hit him; I hadn’t intended to. The best I can say in my own defense is that weremystes start to do strange things-stupid things-around the time of the full moon.
I suppose that could have been why Robby was throwing magic around like he was determined to set the city on fire. No myste was immune from the phasing. But I wasn’t going to let him think I had any sympathy for him. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me, this’ll seem like a picnic.” I glared at him for a moment more, then left the alley.
“Hey, Fearsson!” I heard Robby call. “Fuck you!”
A few people stared as I walked by, but I ignored them. My hand and leg were throbbing and I didn’t have much to show for my effort. I knew a bit more about Claudia, and I knew for certain that her drugs had come from Robby. I’d been hoping, though, that I would be able to connect Robby to the East Side Parks Killer. I should have known better. After all this time, leads in this case wouldn’t come so easily.
As I approached the Z-ster, I was racking my brain, trying to think of other ways to tie Robby to past victims.
I was in the middle of the street when I felt it. Instinct. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. I spun around, pulling my weapon free as I did. Nothing. Sure, there were a few people milling around in their yards, looking at me as if I were crazy. But I had been certain that someone was about to take a shot at me, and there was no one.
I took a breath, started to holster my Glock. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. There might not be a gunman, but someone was watching me, and it sure as hell wasn’t my guardian angel. I held on to my weapon until I was in the Z-ster with the engine running. Even then, I eased the car away from the curb, scanning the yards and houses as I drove. Only when I was out of Robby’s neighborhood did I begin to relax. Still, I took special care to see that I wasn’t followed as I headed back to my office.
CHAPTER 5
I had calmed down by the time I got back to Chandler, though I remained watchful as I made my way up to my office. Emerging from the brick stairway, I saw a woman standing by my door, and before I knew it, I was reaching for my Glock again.
“Mister Fearsson,” she said.
I let my hand fall to my side and walked toward her, my steps deliberate. I even went so far as to take off my sunglasses. Still, it took me several seconds to recognize her.
“You’re the blogger,” I said, stopping in front of her
She smiled. “That’s right. Billie Castle.”
“Miss Castle, of course. Forgive me for not recognizing you right away.”
“It’s all right. I hope I didn’t alarm you.”
“No, I. .” I held up my hands. “Never mind.” I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I found you in the phone book after we met at the Deegans. It’s a nice picture.”
I chuckled. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re a private detective.”
“I am. And you’re avoiding my question.”
“Can I buy you lunch?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch and cocked an eyebrow.
“Fine,” she said. “An early dinner?”
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and that I was starving. But I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to spend too much time with Miss Castle. I’m sure Howard Wriker would have agreed.
“I think I’ll pass. Thanks, though.”
A thin smile flitted across her face. “Wriker warned you away from me, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it?”
I felt like she was holding a microphone in front of my face.
“Look, Miss Castle-”
“What did you do to your leg?” she asked, staring at my bloodied knee.
“I fell down, running. .” I clammed up, reminding myself again that I was talking to a reporter.
“Running?” she repeated.
“Yeah. Running. It’s not important. But I was going to say, Miss Castle, that-”
“Billie.”
“I think I’ll stick with Miss Castle. I don’t care much for politics or politicians, and I’m not interested in being famous. I’m trying to pay some bills and help out a friend.”
“Are you a friend of Senator Deegan?”
I turned away from her, pulled out my key, and unlocked the door to my office.
“I’m writing a story, Mister Fearsson. A series of them, probably. And my readers are going to want to know why a private eye is involved with an ongoing murder investigation. They’ll want to know why that private eye was forced to resign from the homicide division of the Phoenix Police Department nineteen months ago in the middle of the Blind Angel Killer case. Now I can leave it to others to answer those questions-Kona Shaw, Howard Wriker, Cole Hibbard. .”
I couldn’t help it. At the mention of Hibbard’s name I bristled and shot a glare her way. She stared back at me with this innocent expression on her face.
“Or,” she went on, “you can answer my questions yourself and make certain that I get your story right.”
Just as I’d thought: smart as hell. Pretty, too. I probably should have ducked into my office, bolted the door behind me, and hidden in the shadows until she gave up and left. Instead, I sighed, locked the door once more, and turned to face her.
“An early dinner, eh?”
She nodded.
“You buying?
She grinned. “Sure.”
There was a pizza place on the ground level of the complex, below my office. I took her there, and we ordered a small pie: mushrooms, green peppers, and sausage. I don’t know if she was being agreeable so that I’d answer her questions, but we settled on the toppings in no time at all.